


Hangover

by Sleepy_Corinne



Series: Hangover (2P!Frace x Reader) [1]
Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:39:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4659990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepy_Corinne/pseuds/Sleepy_Corinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be just another one-night stand and nothing more. Perhaps it was your fault, perhaps it was the blond french hobo's or perhaps you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, you were determined to find a way out of this mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You woke up to a sound of something vibrating. A phone, probably. God, if it was that creepy guy you met (and nearly hooked up with) you would honestly go insane. I mean, dear God, that guy actually planned how to meet you meet you and what to say. The only thing that went wrong with his plan? He got drunk as well. Then he told you that he had been stalking you on Facebook – you weren’t drunk enough to ignore that and thankfully, you managed to get back home safe.   
When you opened your tired (e/c) eyes, it took you some time to realise you were not in your own bedroom. No, definitely not. The room was dark – only because the dull dark purple curtains were drawn, blocking any light that the huge window would normally let in. The walls were painted in the same purple as the curtains, laminate flooring in chestnut brown, a carpet and a huge flat screen TV on the wall in front of the bed. Although the room was nice, it reeked of smoke – that made you wrinkle your nose. Disgusting.   
Despite being a regular at your local bar which had the stench of cigarettes at all times, you still disliked the smell. However, as time passed you learnt to tolerate it.   
You were still thinking about how much you hated cigarettes when a vibration caught your attention. Oh, right. The phone on the bedside table next to your head. The sound made your head throb and you groaned.   
‘Great, another hangover. I should really stop drinking…’ You thought as you reached out and took the mobile device which was causing your hungover self so much distress. Why wouldn’t the goddamn thing stop vibrating? Of course, you weren’t going to worsen your headache. Oh no, you took the damn phone, not caring that it didn’t even belong to you, and put it in “do not disturb” mode. You had an iPhone yourself, you knew how to deal with the annoying fuckers.   
Grinning in satisfaction, you were about to set it down on the bedside table and lie back down on the bed, planning to drown in agony and self-pity. Those were your plans until a much bigger hand than your own, covered in blond hairs grasped yours. You felt someone’s body pressing against yours and then the person’s breath on your neck and ear.   
“What do you think you are doing?” A male voice growled, causing shivers to go down your spine.   
Oh, right. You were in someone else’s house.   
“Huh…?”   
“I’d much rather if les salopes I’ve slept with didn’t touch my things.” The man’s voice was rough, harsh. Somehow you managed to place his nationality – French. You didn’t know what “les salopes” meant but you were willing to wager that it wasn’t anything nice.   
‘And here I thought French was supposed to be a melodic language.’ You bitterly thought.   
The Frenchman was getting impatient with you and your lack of reply and snatched the phone from your hand.   
“Don’t touch my stuff.” He said and you felt the mattress move as he laid down. Then there was a ‘click’ and you curiously turned your head to look at the man who you had apparently slept with.   
To be honest, he wasn’t anything special. Everything in his appearance screamed that he didn’t really take care of the way he looked. Sullen purple eyes with dark circles under them, a scruffy stubble (you couldn’t tell whether he was trying to grow a beard or was just badly shaven), messy long blond hair and… he was definitely on the hairy side. He was also holding a cigarette in his hand and smoking like a chimney. Even though he looked like a really hairy hobo there was a certain charm in his looks. Something oddly alluring which you couldn’t put your finger on.   
“Uh… what’s your name?” You asked, somewhat awkwardly. Not like his name mattered or anything. You would probably never see this man again after you leave his house but you had learnt that if you were nice to the random men in whose houses you found yourself in, if you were lucky enough, you could get a glass of water and an aspirin to help you with your hangover or, at least, a warm shower to wash off the sweat and… other fluids that may or may not have remained on your body from the night before.   
“Francis.” The blond replied, the bored and uninterested look remaining on his face as if it were glued there since birth.   
“How are you feeling today, Fr-“   
“Look, just take a shower and leave. I don’t care who you are or where you come from, I only wanted you for last night.”   
Geez. Talk about rude.   
Francis got up and you blushed at the sight of his bare, well-build torso. He wasn’t like the fitness maniacs, often found in the gym, obsessing over how big their muscles were – no, the Frenchman’s body was just perfect. He wasn’t overly muscular, he was lean and tall. Your eyes were wandering over his body but they didn’t dare to venture lower than his stomach. After all, when you weren’t under alcohol’s influence you became your normal self: shy and somewhat awkward.   
“A shower was all I was hoping for.” You responded, still holding the sheets to your chest in order to cover it until he left or at least stopped looking at you.   
“Bathroom’s over there.” The man pointed at a door. “Come on, there is no use of acting all innocent after last night. It’s not like I haven’t seen everything already.” He sneered at you and you glared, a embarrassed blush forming on your (s/c) cheeks.   
Much to your relief, he walked over to his closet and started dressing up, turning his back to you. You took the chance to quickly run to the bathroom.   
You didn’t bother taking in the sight of the room. Rather, you made a beeline for the shower cabin, not forgetting to lock the bathroom before that. After all, the cabin’s walls were made out of glass and the last thing you wanted was that pervert to stroll into the room with his stoic expression and start brushing his teeth as you washed yourself without giving a fuck.   
You decided to wash your hair as well and pretty much used all of the products he had in his bathroom: his shampoo and then you lathered your body with his body wash. The smell was pleasant which kind of surprised you. After drying yourself with a fluffy white towel, you wrapped it around yourself and left the bathroom. Time for the difficult part: finding your clothes.   
Most of the time, your clothes were thrown all around the bedroom you slept in. However, this time that was not the case. You couldn’t find neither your shirt, nor your skirt and let’s not even talk about your high heels and underwear.   
You were anxiously biting your lips, trying to determine whether you should ask Francis about the whereabouts of your clothes or not. You had the feeling that if you asked him he would just throw you out naked which… didn’t sound very nice.   
In the end, you headed downstairs, deciding to at least try asking him about your clothes. Too bad that you were in the bathroom earlier and failed to hear the doorbell ringing.   
“Francis? Have you seen my…” Your voice died in your throat and your eyes widened upon seeing the Frenchman and another man looking at you, as equally surprised as you were. The other man was dressed in bright clothes: neon blue tie which matched his eyes perfectly, pastel pink shirt with a sweater over it which was at least two tones darker than it, brown pants and shoes. He had the prettiest strawberry blond hair you had ever seen.   
“…clothes…” When you finished your sentence, you felt even more uncomfortable, standing in front of the two men in just a towel. Francis’s purple orbs were the only thing that hinted that he was extremely angry. Oh, if only looks could kill…   
“Franny? You didn’t tell me you finally found a girlfriend!” The oddly-dressed man cheerfully exclaimed with a bright smile on his face.   
“I can’t believe I found ma petite chatte too, really…”   
Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh my, Franny! I am so glad – congratulations!” The man who was much shorter than Francis happily wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a hug. The Frenchman visibly stiffened but awkwardly pat his friend’s back. A light pink dusted his cheeks and he looked away. Much to Francis’s disappointment the hug was over shortly.   
“Just look at how lovely she is! I knew that you have a great taste in women!” The strange man got closer to you, smiled charmingly and kissed your hand. “I am Arthur Kirkland but feel free to call me Artie! I can’t believe Francis finally found a girlfriend! Such a pretty one, too!”   
“I-I am (y/n)(l/n). Nice to meet you, Artie.” You gave him an awkward smile, tightly clutching onto your towel with your other hand.   
“Oh, dear! You’d better get dressed before you catch a cold!”   
“I was just looking for my clothes!” You said and then felt a hand grasp your shoulder. You felt a little creeped out when you saw the blond Frenchman behind you. Sneaky bastard, you didn’t even notice or hear him!   
“Come on, mon amour. Let’s go find your clothes. Arthur, make yourself at home.” He said and dragged you upstairs, to his room.   
Once the door was shut he let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his temples.   
“Merde… what mess did I get myself into?”   
“Scratch that! What mess did you get me into?” You glared at him, infuriated. Normally, you would be gone by now, not giving the man whose house you slept in a second thought. Should you have said something to Arthur though? Denied any kind of relationship with the Frenchman while you had the chance? No, that would’ve been ridiculous! You walked downstairs in just a towel for Pete’s sake! Not to mention, this man, Francis, was undeniably intimidating. Something inside you was telling you that he was dangerous, that you shouldn’t get involved with him… but that was ridiculous!   
“Be my girlfriend for a while.”   
“What? Where did that come from? No! Forget it!” Your glare hardened and you crossed your arms over your chest.   
“I’ll pay you.”   
“I said no! I have money and I am not going to sell myself!”   
“Merde! What will it take for you to agree?!” He growled. You were clearly annoying him and this was turning into a heated argument.   
“Nothing! Listen, I don’t need or want your money and I already said no so just let me leave already!” You yelled but then felt your back hit something hard.   
Francis had pushed you against the wall behind you and nearly knocked the air out of you. He had your wrists in an iron grip – the feeling was awful – a burning pain overtook you but you refused to cry out in agony. Instead, you stubbornly glared at the blond, trying to look as if none of this was affecting you.   
“Listen to me, salope…” His amethyst eyes were sparkling dangerously. “You will either be a good girl and act like my girlfriend for as long as I ask you to or our little sex escapade from last night goes viral. And believe me, when I say viral, I will make sure the whole goddamn world will see it.”   
“No! You can’t be serious!” You said. He was probably just bluffing anyways – I mean, there was no way he had cameras in his bedroom, right? Why would he?   
“My whole house is under surveillance. Look here…” He pulled you towards a bookshelf which you hadn’t noticed until now, took out a book from it and flipped it open. It was carved on the inside just like a box and there was a camera inside. So he really wasn’t lying?! This was bad, bad, really, really bad.   
“So, ma chatte, what do you say? Do you prefer to embrace your future as a porn star or do what I say?”   
“I agree to do what you say…” You hung your head in shame. How could somebody be so cruel? What happened last night, really? Why did this man have his whole house under surveillance and was showing you that camera really a smart move? Who was this man? Was he really that influential? So many questions, yet no answers. One thing you knew for sure – these were no empty threats he was giving.   
“Bien.” Francis went to his wardrobe and took out a shirt and jeans. Then he threw them on the bed. “Get dressed. I’ll be waiting for you downstairs.” And with that, he left the room.   
You sighed and started dressing up, thinking that you should probably look for your clothes later. Then you started fixing your almost dry hair. When you decided that you looked presentable enough, you made your way downstairs.   
You found both men chatting in the living room, or rather, Arthur was doing all of the talking and Francis was only listening… or looked like he was listening. You weren’t sure. The cheerful strawberry blond smiled brightly when he saw you.   
“Ah, there she is! You have an odd sense of fashion, poppet!” The Brit said, disapprovingly eyeing your attire.   
“She moved here yesterday and didn’t bring any clothes. The ones she was wearing god dirty so I lent her mine.” The scruffy Frenchman explained, letting out a puff of smoke.   
“I see. I’m sure you have a lovely style, dear, but you simply must come to my house sometime – I have a lot of dresses that would look lovely on you!”  
“Thanks for the offer. That’s very sweet of you.” You said with a smile. It was probably best not to question why he had dresses at all. You could feel Francis’s eyes on you and that got you nervous. To make matters worse, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close, lying your head on his chest.   
Awkward.  
“So, how long have you two been together for?” Arthur inquired.   
“Five months.” Your “boyfriend” curtly replied. All he seemed to care about right now was the cigarette which he was holding.   
“I see! Where did you meet a pretty young lady like (y/n)?”   
“She worked as a stri-”   
“He means that I worked at a strip club! Er, no, no, no! Not like that, not as a stripper, god, no! I served drinks there.” You said, blushing. You had covered the Frenchman’s mouth which clearly annoyed him but he still looked awfully smug. Bastard.  
“That sounds terrible! But meeting Franny at such a place does make sense, I guess.” Arthur sighed sadly. “Despite his cold and harsh demeanor he is a really nice guy, (y/n)! He has a golden heart and I don’t even know why I’m telling you this!” He laughed but there was something behind those words – you just couldn’t place your finger on it. You were sure, however, that he was upset about something. “I am sure you know this, having been together for such a long time! Not to mention, you live together, too!”   
Clearly, Francis didn’t like where the conversation was going so he changed the topic.   
“How have you and that little shit been?”   
“Franny! I told you not to call Alfie that!” The man glared but his glare looked more playful than serious. Then he turned to you to explain who “Alfie” was. “Alfie’s name is actually Alfred! Don’t listen to Franny – I swear, Alfie is a really nice guy!”   
“You also told me not to smoke.” The Frenchman said. The corners of his mouth slightly lifted upwards and you thought that that was supposed to be some kind of weird smile.   
“Yes! Look at yourself, Francis Bonnefoy! Still smoking like a chimney – shame on you!”   
While Arthur was lecturing Francis, you started thinking about where you had heard the scruffy man’s last name before. You were absolutely positive that you had heard it before but where?   
“And you!” The strawberry blond pointed an accusing finger at you. “Shame on you! How can you encourage his smoking habits and allow him to continue on like this?”   
“I-I d-” You lifted your hands in defense but Francis spoke up again.   
“She smokes with me too.” He looked so pleased with himself.   
“What?!” Both you and Arthur shouted simultaneously.   
“I swear, I don’t-” You couldn’t help but giggle. This was so silly!   
“Francis! You are bad influence on young ladies like (y/n)!”   
“Moi? Pourquoi? She came onto me and why do you think that she isn’t the bad influence here? You just met her!”   
“You are soiled enough as it is! I doubt she could do any more damage!”   
“What is that supposed to mean?!”   
“You probably would’ve known had you told me about her earlier you… you old frog!”   
At that you burst out laughing. You couldn’t help it! They were just like an old married couple which constantly bickered about the silliest things!   
Arthur stayed until late in the evening and even baked cupcakes for you – you had to admit – he sure knew how to cook! The cupcakes were delicious and you weren’t even slightly surprised when he told you he owned a bakery. You were having so much fun that you lost track of time – you even forgot about the circumstances under which you agreed to stay here. You also learnt a lot about Francis and Arthur.   
However, all good things must come to an end and Arthur’s visit was one of those good things.   
“Good bye, Francis and (y/n)! I will miss you both so much!” He hugged both of you. “I hope we’ll see each other again soon! Francis, you’ve really found yourself a great girl! You’d better take good care of her and don’t let her get away!”   
You had the feeling that the Brit would start crying and you honestly wouldn’t put it past him to do it, keeping in mind how sensitive he was.   
“Yeah, yeah. Au revoir.” Francis waved him off.   
“Bye, Artie!” You waved at him, smiling. You truly did like this man – he was just so sweet!   
As soon as the front door was shut the warm, pleasant and happy friendly atmosphere disappeared as if it had never been there in the first place. The change was very noticeable but you decided to try talking to the Frenchman who had just put his pack of cigarettes in his shirt’s pocket and was looking for something in the living room where you were all sitting not long ago.   
“Artie is such a great guy! I am so glad I met him!”   
“He is.” Was the man’s only reply. That made you frown but nevertheless, you continued talking. “Is he a childhood friend of some sort? You two seemed awfully clo- hey! Where are you going?” You asked the man who had just found his car keys and was heading towards the front door.   
“Out.”   
Against your better judgment, you ran after him and even grabbed his sleeve. However, the moment he turned to face you and you saw his icy glare you froze, all of the courage you had a mere moment ago melted away like ice cream on a hot summer day.   
“What do you want?”   
“I… I was just expecting you to explain some things and-”   
“Arthur is my ex-boyfriend.” And with that, Francis pulled his hand out of your grip.   
Too stunned to react, you could only watch as the front door slammed into your face.


	3. Chapter 3

For a while, you weren’t sure exactly how long, you stood there, gaping at the closed door like a fish. Your mind was struggling, desperately trying to comprehend… well, everything. What was going on? Why can’t I leave? And more importantly - when will I be able to leave? Why was all of this happening? Will someone notice that I am missing at all? What about work?   
Without you realizing it, your feet had carried you back to the living room where you seated yourself on the comfortable leather sofa. Many thoughts were running through your mind, so many that you had a hard time catching up to them, one after another they came and went and in the end you just covered your face with your hands and blocked out everything. Just for a moment.   
“Is this even legal…?” You removed your hands from your face and stared at them. “I don’t think that he can keep me in here against my will…” You were only thinking out loud – it wasn’t anything weird since it happened whenever you were stressed out or worried. Besides, everyone has one of those moment in which they speak to themselves, even if for just a brief moment… right? You shook your head.   
‘Get a hold of yourself (y/n)!’  
For the past 24 hours or so life seemed to be determined to give you things that you didn’t ask for, to shower you with them. It was… overwhelming.   
“You clearly don’t know my pops then.” A gruff voice responded to your earlier statement and your head shot towards the kitchen where it came from. And this reply was one of those things you didn’t ask for.   
“W-who’s there?” You grabbed the nearest object which happened to be a pillow, preparing to defend yourself from any potential threats.   
“Matthew, Mathieu, Matt – take your pick.” The man – or boy – in the kitchen finally revealed himself. He had blond hair, tied in a messy ponytail, violet eyes with bags under them and a bit of a stubble. You weren’t sure but perhaps it was the bags under his eyes or the stubble that concealed his youthful face, giving him a more tired, somewhat mature look. He wore a red flannel shirt and jeans - you had to admit, the kid definitely had style. And sex appeal. Then you started realizing that he was a spitting image of the Frenchman, Francis, who left only a mere moment ago. And did this kid just call him ‘pops’? Was he really –   
“Stop staring at me like I’m Wayne Gretzky.” Your thought process was interrupted once again. Your ears perked up at the name which he mentioned but you didn’t like this Matthew or Mathieu or whatever his name was’s tone. It definitely felt like someone had slapped you across the face – an odd feeling that annoyed you to no end. An unimpressed look made its way on your face.   
“Me? Staring at you? In your dreams, kiddo. For a moment you reminded me of that French hobo, that’s all.” And he was kind of hot but you wouldn’t admit that. Not out loud, at least. “Besides, if you were really Wayne Gretzky himself, I would most likely have asked you for an autograph. And I would’ve gotten one. Perhaps, I would also have been happy to see you.”   
“My feelings.” He put a hand over his heart, clearly mocking being hurt. “And first of all – kiddo? The blond laughed. “I’m probably older than you so don’t call me that. Second – when you say ‘French hobo’ you are referring to my father, right? I wouldn’t be surprised if you were. Third – ” He sat down on the couch and took a sip from the beer can he was holding. “I didn’t actually expect you to know who Wayne Gretzky is. Colour me impressed.”   
“Younger?” You snorted. “Right. I’m 25, kiddo. Don’t flatter me so much. And what are you, 17? Yes, if that bastard is your father, then yes. And for the love of God, of course I know who Wayne Gretzky is! My father and I always watched hockey together when I was a kid. It would’ve been a shame if I didn’t know who he was.”   
“Huh, you definitely look younger. And for your information, I’m 20 soon to be 21. Third year in college. You definitely look younger than me.” The boy sighed. Or was he a man? What made a boy a man anyways? Wait, who cares? Either way, the man-boy sighed and took another sip from his beer. “Before I ask you what my father did this time and then tell you that I really don’t care, tell me this – Toronto maple leafs or Canadiens?”   
“Toronto maple leafs all the way.”   
“I’m starting to like you.”   
“Get in the line.”   
“I would but I don’t see one.”   
“Fuck you.”   
“I’m sure you want to.”   
Fucking little bastard.   
“Stop looking so smug. It’s annoying.”   
Matthew rolled his eyes.   
“Put that thing down and come sit.” He pat the empty spot next to himself on the sofa. “It feels really awkward when you are standing there, looking like you will hit me at any given moment.”   
“I wish to.” But you dropped the pillow and sat down next to him.   
“You’re not the only one.”   
“I’ll bet.”   
And just like that, a brand new relationship started blooming on that very couch.   
“What? Why is there a bra under the cushions?” Matt questioned, holding the (f/c) garment, looking somewhat flustered.   
“Whoops, that’s mine.” You giggled and took it.   
“God, that’s… I’m not even going to say anything.”   
“You’d better not. Hey, give me some of that.” You reached your hand out for the beer which he handed you over and you took a sip.   
“If your father’s French then how come you aren’t?”   
“What makes you think I am not?”   
“You don’t have an accent.”   
“I do know French though. I lived in Quebec the first 7 years of my life and we spoke French most of the time.”   
“I see. Hey, say something in French.”   
“Quelque chose.”   
“Ooh, what does that mean?”   
“Something.”   
“Oh, come on! Tell me what it means!”   
“No, it really means something.”   
“Woah! You sound so good in French!”   
“Merci beaucoup.”   
In the morning, this situation that had… befallen you seemed hopeless, terrifying. Humiliating, even. But right now, you couldn’t wish for anything better than to keep sitting on this very sofa with Matthew, sharing a beer and watching hockey together. It sure was nice to just hang out with a guy with similar interests to yours once in a while. Yeah, you could definitely get used to that. And to smiling more.


End file.
